Nameless
by Luca-Pacheco
Summary: Everybody was stunned, alternating between looking at her and looking at the paintings. The resemblance was uncanny, down to the clothing. "I swear I haven't seen you in my life, lady, I'm not stalking you!" the bum said again, almost pleading, unable to take his eyes off of her in sheer awe.
1. The Lady from the Dream

Title: Nameless

Spoilers: None

Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine, this is not for profit, etc, etc…

-000-

Fall had just started, and the bum painted in the park while people around him gathered to look on. His style was one of rough realism. He painted landscapes, all of those he saw while traveling the country, until he arrived to D.C. somehow. He let people buy his paintings for a couple of bucks, and that way he afforded some food, the barest of hygienic luxuries (like a quick daily shower) and even, every once in a while, a night at a cheap motel – although generally he slept on a bench, or wherever the night caught him.

There were certain paintings he wouldn't sell, though. Those weren't landscapes, but portraits. All of them seemed to be of the same woman, and he seemed to have been painting them since always. Some of them were made with charcoal or whatever he could find, some of them were made of pencils he either bought or was given by random strangers he encountered. They were on display, so curious customers offered money for them, and when he politely refused, they asked him why he wouldn't want to sell them, when they were his best. The bum just averted his eyes. Then they usually asked him who was that woman, and he responded she was a dream he often had, which satisfied them enough. "That's a beautiful dream to have", someone said every now and then, and he nodded in agreement.

That day, however, one of the onlookers turned around for a second and saw the embodiment of what the homeless man drew: A lady standing by the other side of the sidewalk, in dark doll-like clothes and a black parasol, her skin pale, high boots and raven hair and her eyes a bright, wild green. The only thing missing was the look of unabashed joy from the bum's sketches, which was replaced by an appearance of quiet melancholy. The man was instantly alarmed: those had to be the sketches of a stalker.

"Those paintings aren't dreams! You've been stalking a woman! Everybody hold him up and wait for me!"

The bum yelled with the accent of a slight inebriation while being held by some of the people from the crowd. "I'm not a stalker! I haven't seen that woman in my life, I swear!" he cried out. The ones who weren't holding him just kept staring at the whole scene.

The man who alerted the others ran towards the lady and brought her to the park. "There's something you need to see," he assured the confused young woman, who followed him begrudgingly. "Look at those paintings", the man said, pointing towards the drawings. "This man has obviously been stalking you for a while now. Do you want us to call the cops?"

Everybody was stunned, alternating between looking at her and looking at the paintings. The resemblance was uncanny, down to the clothing. "I swear I haven't seen you in my life, lady, I'm not stalking you!" the bum said again, almost pleading, unable to take his eyes off of her in sheer awe.

As soon as she heard the author's voice, she looked up with her eyes open like plates, and immediately teared up. "Should we call the police?" an old woman asked her. She just shook her head no, she couldn't bring herself to speak.

"I'm sorry. I swear this is the first time I've seen you, I didn't mean to-"

"I've been looking for you for so long… do you know who I am?"

"I don't", the bum answered softly, as if hoping that what he just said wasn't true.

"I'm Abby", she answered back, trying to make him see through her, just as she saw through his unkempt beard and the disrepair of his clothes. "Come with me Gibbs, let's take these and go."

After picking up his works, Gibbs let her take his hand and followed her obediently to where her car was parked, as the crowd followed them with their gaze, wondering what the hell had just happened.


	2. Are You Death?

Abby called Dorneget and asked him to order two breakfasts, one large cup of coffee– black, strong, without sugar – and a Caf-Pow! for her. She didn't give any explanations. Gibbs had lost a lot of weight since she had last seen him. He didn't look like someone who didn't eat at all, but he definitely didn't eat enough either. Her heart ached from seeing him in that state.

Gibbs looked at her, mesmerized. "Are you an angel?" he whispered. "Am I dead? Are you my guardian angel taking me to Heaven?... are you Death?" he added after a moment of pensiveness.

Abby stopped dead in her tracks. "What? Why do you say that?" she inquired.

"It's just that… You're so beautiful. I've dreamt about you for as long as I can remember, and now you show up in person and pick me up… Me, a homeless man without a name, with your skulls and your parasol, taking me who knows where in a hearse…"

She could tell he wasn't flirting, or even trying to pay her a compliment. He seemed to be simply stating facts, sincerely believing every word that came out of his mouth, and although his voice was calm and raspy just as she remembered, his blue eyes betrayed a mix of hope, curiosity and, to be honest, a little bit of panic as well. She couldn't believe he was scared of her.

"Uhh… no, we're human, and we're pretty much alive!" Abby reassured him. "In fact, we're going to where your life is… hopefully…" Even though she was sure this man next to her was her Gibbs and he seemed to have some unconscious recollection of her, until a DNA test could confirm it, there was always the possibility of him not being the one she had been looking for. "Do you remember anything? Anything about your life at all?"

"No," the bum replied sadly. "All I remember is waking up in the middle of nowhere. I was hungry, thirsty, with one hell of a headache too. I think I was bleeding or something. I walked until I found a small town. I drank some water, ate some soup a lady gave me, been walking ever since."

"And drawing" Abby pointed out. "I didn't know you drew, you never did that when…" She reined herself in. She had to remind herself not to get her hopes up just yet. It was true, however. While his works were no Rembrandts, they did display the qualities of something made by a person with talented hands, which Gibbs was. She figured that a carpenter/sniper being to turn his thoughts into hand-drawn images wasn't much of a stretch.

"Paper and coal are easy to find on the streets. A lot of stuff is easy to find on the streets. I just need this to make bucks for some food, water, beer, a bed sometimes… all I need. I don't beg. Ever."

"Now that sounds like you," she chuckled, and he thought he had seen her doing just that in one of his dreams. It was a comforting now as it had been then, it was the reason he didn't like to wake up early or go to sleep late. "So," Abby continued. "The streets have a lot to offer… I see…have you tried any of those things?"

"No. They've offered me everything. Every dust, plant, happy pill, women, men…" Gibbs retorted, and a resentful tone took possession of his voice. "All they sell is shit to make you forget. I already forgot, I don't need that. I need to remember, or to be left alone. I mean, not you lady, them. I mean them," he rushed to clarify.

Abby was as relieved as she was heartbroken by what he told her, and the way he did. As they reached their destination, she cupped his cheek for a moment.

"I really hope I can help you do that"

"And what if I'm not your guy after all?"

"You are." She swallowed hard. "But if you're not, I'll help you anyway".


End file.
